Scribbles in the Sand

My darling granddaughter. You feel the temptation? Now that you’re old enough to satisfy your curiosity. And all your friends are doing it. And the risk, the thrill,and all the old taboos you can break and shock conservative minds.

I remember my first demon lover. It was – oh, quite a few – years ago, before such couplings became the fashion. I was young and it seemed daring. He was much older than me, of course. But not too old.

You want to hear the story? Then sit down and listen, darling. Just move one of the cats, she’ll gladly curl in your lap instead.

It was in the time when we warred with the Morindian States. In those days, I was considered a beauty-a slender maid with bright blue eyes and silky brown hair long enough to sit on. My father had betrothed me to Gorrick, the Duke of Morganstar. It was not his choice: King Rupert promised Gorrick my dowry in return for troop reinforcements from the Duchy of Morganstar.

I was sent from the city, where I had recently earned a baccalaureate from Saint Maddison University, with a double major in sorcery and political science.

I arrived at the palace soon after the spring thaw when the plum trees were in blossom and the scent of hyacinths perfumed the air. I was given an adequate suite of rooms and treated respectably at first. The wedding was planned for midsummer and there was considerable work entailed in getting the old palace ready for a formal wedding. I had expected a warmer welcome, but Morganstar was a backwater. People were prejudiced against my calling and I was left to my own devices very quickly.

Gorrick was handsome, in a sharp featured way, with shining black hair and green eyes. He was tall and moved with the grace of a predator. In the first week of my stay, Gorrick set his greyhound after my sleepy cat, Ruby, and killed her. When Gorrick’s mistress Elaine tried to stop him, Gorrick sent her to the bonesetters with a smashed wrist. And Elaine had been his favorite.

“I have no use for cats,” he said, “Unless they work to keep down the vermin. And you will have no use for a familiar, Lady. I forbid you to practice your witchcraft here.”

I was a sorcerer, not a witch and Ruby had only been my friend.

Well. I had not expected to marry for love, but I had expected honour and some happiness in my future. My father did not have the power to save me from marriage to a cruel fiend against the king’s command.

I resolved that I would rescue myself. On the night of the waning moon, I snuck out of my tower window and climbed down the heavy ivy branches that clung to the stone wall. I had thought myself clever, for I had found an obscure summoning spell for a most intriguing demon. I had tracked down the ingredients and paraphernalia, and located a disused demon chasm in the forbidden depths of the old forest where the ritual could be performed.

I was so filled with the drama of the situation that I neglected to dress appropriately for a hard walk through old growth forest. I chose a gown of deep crimson voile, with drifting sleeves and trailing skirt. I piled my long hair up with jeweled clips. Instead of a sturdy coat, I wore my best cashmere wrap. I even wore sandals to reveal my painted nails and white feet, when boots would have been far more appropriate.

I had made reconnaissance to the chasm in daylight, when dappled light made the path look gentle. Now, beneath the old sickle moon, tendrils of mist curled through rough branches of cedar and oak. Vines held thorns and grasses were sharp against my bare ankles.

Of course, my flimsy, romantic gown was soon soaked by mist and snagged by twigs. The place was haunted and the amused ghosts played tricks on me. I was led astray by will-o-the-wisps and fell into more than one stagnant pool.

When I had looked down into the demon chasm in the reassuring daylight, the black steps had glistened prettily in the sun and the way had looked easy.

Now, when I descended the steep path with its edges cloaked in treacherous moon shadows, I found the obsidian steps slippery and sharp. I tore my skirt on sharp stones. I fell and turned my ankle when my sandal slid away.

When I finally arrived at the bottom of the chasm, instead of looking like the capable lady sorcerer I aspired to be, I looked a bedraggled wretch. My flimsy gown clung to my body in a most improper way and I was so cold that my breasts were embarrassingly visable. I could not bear the touch of my sodden cashmere wrap, which felt as slimy as a dead rodent. I had lost one sandal completely and the other hung lose with broken straps. The rents in my mud-slick dress revealed wide glimpses of skin that shone like pearl in the moonlight.

I was bleeding from numerous shallow cuts, though the ones in my feet were stopped with dirt. Fortunately, I did not have a mirror, or else I never would have been bold enough to attempt the summoning.

The floor of the chasm was smooth level obsidian, treacherous to walk on. A large pentagram was etched into its surface. I slid across to the pentacle, leaving dangerous smears of blood behind me. I should have given up and made my way home, but I didn’t pay attention to the danger I was placing myself in.

I set the wards with care. I burnt the incense, sprinkled the blessed water, the unguent and the sacred earth around the perimeter of the pentagram. I didn’t notice that I had also outlined it in my own blood.

I spoke the demon’s summoning ritual. I called him by his name, by his numbers and letters. Then I waited for him, ragged and defiant, on the smooth obsidian. The cold mist chilled me through my wet rags.

Finally he arrived. At first he looked squat, with skin the colour of garnets and hands with long claws. He changed swiftly, taking on a man’s shape and coloration.

He was short, barely five foot tall and uncommonly broad across the shoulders. He wore a golden chain mail vest and narrow black pants and his feet were bare. His naked skin was burnished bronze his eyes shone with topaz fire.

“Who has summoned me?” he asked, gazing everywhere but at me.

“Look at me,” I snapped. “I am the one who called you.”

He was rude enough to laugh. He laughed quite a bit. In fact, he laughed so hard that he lost his balance and fell sprawling into the pentagram. But the sign didn’t hurt him at all! He licked his finger in puzzlement. “Blood,” he said. “Blood of a virgin girl. Are you trying to sacrifice yourself to me?”

“Oh, crap.”

He walked out of the pentagram, down the trail of blood, straight to me. I huddled on the ground and worked my eyes up his body. He looked much taller from that angle.

He squatted beside me, resting his bronzed wrist on his knee. He ran his fingers through my hair, then closed his hand around a thick hank of hair. He yanked my head toward him.

I yelped.

He was stronger than any man. His fingers were long and his nails were manicured ovals. He licked blood from my knuckles and started to work his mouth up my arm, slowly coming closer to my neck.

“Tell me, girl, why shouldn’t I eat you now?” he whispered.

“Don’t!” I said. “Don’t hurt me.”

He waited. Daring me to say something more intelligent.

“You owe me,” I said. “I have freed you.”

He looked even more amused. “Not on purpose, I don’t think. Why did you summon me?”

“I want to be free of my betrothed,” I said. “He is a cruel man.”

“And why is this my concern?”

“I am trapped,” I said. I told the demon what Gorrick had done to Elaine and my cat and that there was no rescue for me, if he denied me.

Oh, I was fortunate. The demon sympathized. “I like cats,” he mused. “And is he handsome, this Duke of yours?”

“If you can see past the smirk in his green eyes. His body is toned and he moves gracefully.”

“If I free you, if I gain your revenge for you, what will you give me in return?”

“My gratitude?”

He waggled an eyebrow at me, then went back to licking the blood off the mound of my white breast. He ripped my gown with his sharp teeth. His breath was hot on my cold skin and I shivered at his touch. “No.” he said. “That is hardly enough. You are bringing wealth to Duke Gorrick, and he could be powerful, if he managed his resources better.”

“Yes, but I can’t pay you my dowry. I can’t access that wealth, unless I marry that fiend.”

“I think you must marry a fiend,” said the demon. “You have freed me to act, and naturally I choose to fill my desires. I have decided to take you, my little virgin.”

“Oh.” I could see he was getting excited about that idea, but it didn’t seem like a fate worse than death. “I would give much to be free of Gorrick.” I ripped away what was left of my gown and offered myself to him.

“Take me!”

He laughed at me again, which hurt my pride. Then his hands and mouth grew busy for a time. My heart was beating fast and I was on fire with desire for him. Then he stopped.

I cried out in frustration.

“This is a cold, sharp place,” he said. “I will take your maidenhead in a warm and powerful place. When I am ready.”

“When?” I panted.

“I will come to you on your wedding night.”

****

Oh I remember that night, like it was yesterday. What’s that you say, my sweet child, with your lovely golden eyes? Just like your grandfather. Yes, your grandfather changed when we married. He has not been cruel. Did the demon come to me on my wedding night? Well, that’s another story.